


Red Wolf Moon

by Cinnamon_Poetry



Series: Fódlan Calendar [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Forehead Touching, Grinding, Kissing, Light Petting, Makeouts, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2020-10-29 08:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamon_Poetry/pseuds/Cinnamon_Poetry
Summary: Her love is the warmth of an outstretched hand, freely offered and tightly held.A piece exploring the post-game relationship between Byleth and Dimitri. More chapters to come; the goal is to get to the wedding.





	1. Winter I

“Thank you, my beloved. Your kind, warm hands… May they cling to my own forevermore.”

“Well,” Byleth says, smiling so her eyes crinkle at the corners, “I will certainly try.”

Dimitri blushes at her words, suddenly self-conscious. There is a lifetime of solitude behind him, but she made her decision months ago; it is time for his loneliness to end, and she will keep it at bay however she can. She leans in, and their foreheads touch, and she treasures how his breath hitches in shock. They savor the moment, all alone in the world (and yet not alone at all).

Byleth cannot help herself; the temptation of him is too strong.

She kisses him then, and the world disappears. She could not tell you what day it is or how many moons shimmer in the sky. There is only Dimitri, his lips to hers, his hair between her fingers. He melts at her touch, wraps his arms around her. Feeling him move against her is unlike anything she has ever experienced, and a breathy moan escapes her before she can stop it. He echoes it, the vibration of it travelling down her throat.

They eventually break apart, breathing deeply but not letting go. She’d never imagined that kissing could literally take someone’s breath away, but finds she doesn’t mind at all. Dimitri leans back in and presses a kiss to her cheek, then another to her temple, then a third to her forehead. It spreads a warmth through her chest. She thinks this must be what it feels like to be cherished.

Wordlessly she nestles against him. He rests his head on hers. She’s completely surrounded, warm and protected.

It is impossible to tell who begins the motion, but they begin to sway, as if mimicking a dance to some unheard song. Byleth chuckles.

“What is it,” Dimitri asks. His voice rumbles in his chest.

“I finally got my dance,” she says.

He freezes, and she worries for a second that she touched an old wound. Then he laughs, genuinely _ laughs_, and resumes their swaying. Had her heart worked, it would have skipped a beat.

“All you had to do was ask,” he says. Byleth lifts her head to meet his gaze.

“You wanted to?”

“More than I could say.” She closes her eyes and their foreheads touch once more. She has never felt so safe. “More than I had words for.”

“But you found the words now.” He hums an agreement at that, and then silence descends. It is just him, and her, and the knowledge that they face the world together now.

A boy, a girl, and a long-overdue dance.


	2. Winter II

The day of the coronation dawns, and Dimitri wakes feeling ridiculously content.

For the first few moments only the emotion registers. His waking mind doesn’t remember _ why _ he feels well, only that for the first time in a long while _ everything will be alright_.

Then he does remember, and feels himself flush from his ears down to his collarbone. There’s no one else in the room, but he hides his face in his hands anyway. It’s a good thing no one can see him, because he’s pretty sure he’d never hear the end of it if anyone saw the king of unified Fódlan blushing like a child. The ring she gave him hangs on a silver chain around his neck, a slight weight that reminds him of the truth.

She said yes. She actually, genuinely, accepted his proposal. He knew that she cared, but this, _ this_…

On some level, he’d just presumed it would never be. The rift between her light and his darkness had seemed too wide. If he’s being honest with himself, it still does; but she has been his guide for too long for him to doubt her now. She has made the decision to stay with him and he will, as always, follow her lead.

He sits up and breathes deep. Today will be a long day, but given whose coronation it is, he doesn’t mind. For once he won’t need to prepare an excuse for stealing glances at Byleth. It’ll be expected, almost required to look upon her face for a good portion of the day. It’s a prospect he can bear with enormous fortitude.

~~~~~~~~~~

She is _ radiant_.

Dimitri is silently thankful for every gruelling second he’s spent being drilled in proper public decorum. Only sheer force of habit lets his face remain impassive as he stares, because Byleth is a sight to behold. She is dressed in a style reminiscent of what Rhea has always worn, with a couple of personal touches. A long white dress, with no extravagant design; white high boots and white gloves. He can see intricate patterns sewn against the edges of the fabric, light blue thread breaking off the otherwise simple ensemble. She bears no crown - _ for now_, he realizes, and his heart thumps almost painfully in his chest - and nothing else that marks her as special.

It suits her. For as long as he has known her, she has been nothing but modest. She sees no reason to elevate herself above others, and her unconcious humility is one of many reasons he loves her. Had she been conceited, he does not think he would’ve held as deep a respect as he does; to see yet another sign of it now, as she is literally hailed as the link between the mortal and divine, warms him out to his fingertips.

He doesn’t hear a word of the ceremony. Seteth and then Rhea speak as Byleth stands in silence between them; Dimitri knows that he should be paying attention, but it’s difficult. His one eye traces her features, noticing new things and small details.

Her hair is partly braided back, and he recalls what it felt like to drag his fingers through the strands. His eye follows her form, past her bare neck, over her shoulders, down to her hands and up again. A small, fiercely possessive part of him treasures the fact that her ring is hidden from everyone else by her gloves. Only he knows, and it takes considerable effort not to grin.

Then her eyes shift, from looking out over the people assembled in the cathedral to looking at _ him_. A hint of a smile graces her features, and he mimics it without a thought. Goddess, her gaze upon him is like sunlight in winter, hot tea after a day out in the cold. Mesmerizing, as ever.

Her eyes drift back to the crowd, but the moment hangs between them, muddling his thoughts and making his heart sing. He hopes that he’ll be able to spend time alone with her later; yesterday’s kiss burns in his mind, more distracting than he expected. Even now, the phantom impression of Byleth pressed against him remains, the feel of her lips against his and her hands in his hair. Just a bit more patience, and then he can feel her again.

~~~~~~~~~~

The celebration lasts into the night, and while the need to be near Byleth itches under his skin, Dimitri still treasures the time spent with everyone else. Old friends and new allies pass him by in a blur. It is a welcome relief, after such a long war, to see the hope in people’s faces and joy as they talk. The ghosts of the past are mercifully subdued, momentarily unheard as the living surround him.

Now and then, he gets close. A glimpse of white in his peripheral vision, a passing conversation that he can’t hear properly no matter how much he tries. Too much time passes without them speaking, and he begins to consider simply seeking her out and asking for a word in private, consequences be damned. Before he can act on it, he’s called away by Sylvain, who drags him over to where Mercedes is waiting.

“Dimitri! How are you holding up?” she asks, caring as always.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” he says. “Though I would not mind stepping away if it were possible.”

“Fair enough,” Sylvain says. “But speaking of stepping away… How about you take our new archbishop with you? She looks like she needs some fresh air, if you know what I mean.” Dimitri doesn’t even try to hold back a sigh as Mercedes giggles.

“There are many people vying for her attention right now. It would hardly be fair of me to… monopolize her time.”

“I don’t think now’s the time to be careful, Your Highness. I’ve already seen a few too many guys attempt to get some alone-time already.”

His tone is light-hearted, but Dimitri can tell that his old friend is serious. And perhaps before he would have taken the bait, but now that he _ knows_… He shakes his head.

“They’re wasting their time. She won’t be interested.”

His old classmates are stunned into silence. Mercedes mouth falls open, a small _ oh _ on her lips. Sylvain’s eyebrows are raised high enough above his eyes to almost be hidden by his hair.

“Okay… You don’t think one of them will be able to convince her?” Sylvain presses, and Dimitri barely holds back a smile.

“They will not.”

Faith, Dimitri finds, is easy once you find the right thing - the right _ person _ \- to believe in.

“You sound… quite sure about that,” Mercedes remarks.

“Yeah. Is there something we’ve missed?” Sylvain asks, and he asks it like he doesn’t mean it, but as the words leave his mouth realization seems to hit. A grin forms on his face, and he reaches out to clap a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “I should have known. Want me to set something up? I can go drop off a message right now if you want me to.”

“Ah, no, that won’t be necessary-”

“Oh my goodness! You don’t mean to say you’ve finally told her, Dimitri?” Mercedes interrupts, and that brings him up short.

“Finally? You… you knew?” he asks. A dull pain begins to make itself known at the back of his head. Sylvain and Mercedes look at each other, incredulous expressions on their faces, before turning back to their king.

“Uh, yeah? Obviously.”

“How could we not have known?”

“Well then, I, uh… Yes. Yes, we have spoken, and…” Their responses have thrown him off; the air is suddenly harder to breathe, but he fights through. “I spoke to her yesterday. I will tell you more another time, but I think… I think I need to step outside.”

Dimitri turns and heads for the edge of the crowd, his old classmates left behind. He doesn’t mean to be rude, but he is suddenly spent, the social pressures of the day piling on top of him. The familiar corridors and stairs and doorways of Garreg Mach fly past. He doesn’t even realize where he is, until he stands at the edge of the water on the archbishop’s terrace, and sees the reflection of the moon before him. It is blessedly empty; this floor of the monastery is not meant for the public.

He takes a deep, shaking breath. Then another. And another. It is at times difficult to predict what will set off the frothing panic in his chest and the pain blooming in his skull. He closes his eye, because he knows that any merriment is only a reprieve, and right on queue…

_ Their joy is built on lies. _ Edelgard.

_ Why do you get to walk among the living? Do you not think we wished for the same? _ Glenn.

_ We had to die, while you were permitted to live. Does that seem fair to you? _ Father.

“There you are.”

At first he does not react. One voice among many does not warrant any change, and it is difficult to think through the pain regardless. Then his mind catches up, and he turns to see Byleth, only a short distance away. The ghosts who surround her appear suddenly muted, murky beings that are half shadow and half real, when compared to the living being in their midst. Dimitri shudders before he can stop himself. He loves them all, and now more than ever he can see how _ wrong _they look, eyes empty of emotion.

She closes the distance between them as he stays rooted, unable to process what’s happening fast enough. Slowly, as though afraid he’ll startle, she removes her gloves and reaches up to cup his face with her bare hands. He sinks into the contact, breath hitching, eye closing. The ring he gave her glitters in the moonlight.

Her hands are warm, and he dimly feels the hum of magic coursing through them. He’s used to the feeling of being healed after battle, but he doesn’t know what she’s doing now; he doesn’t have to know, because he trusts her. With his future, with his heart, and with the demons that follow his every step. They’ve fallen silent in her presence, as if they too are wondering what she’s doing.

The familiar pain of his headache subsides, and he opens his remaining eye to stare at her in surprise. Her brows are furrowed in concentration; the faintest glow is visible at the edge of his vision where her hands touch his face. Then it is over, and she smiles, and his pulse speeds up. The pain isn’t gone, not by a long shot, but it’s manageable. He can _ breathe_. In the corner of his vision, spectres still stand; but they hold their tongues while Byleth is near, as though she could turn at any moment and smite them.

Her hands settle on his chest. Automatically, he embraces her; the functioning part of his mind thrills over being able to do so. How many times over the past few months has he wished to do this, but not been able to? He couldn’t have counted if he’d tried. The need for her has become as much a part of him as breathing.

“You have felt this pain for nine… almost ten years now, haven’t you?” Speechless, he can only nod. “If it is alright with you, I think we should have Mercedes look it over. Or perhaps Manuela. They are far better at treating wounds than I.” She looks down, bashful, as if she hasn’t done enough. “I can only be a temporary shield, and I… I wish I could do more.”

What can he possibly say? There are no words for how her existence anchors him, how she sets his feet firmly on the ground and allows him to walk. He tries anyway; she deserves nothing less.

“You do… more than enough. Even this respite… is more than I would ever ask for.”

At his words Byleth looks up once more. She has always been beautiful, but the winter moonlight seems to elevate that beauty to a point that isn’t really fair. The mint green of her eyes and hair is faded to a strange silver; her face is accented by the light, and he’s about to lean down and kiss her senseless when she shivers.

Of course. He’s clad in his armor and fur-lined cloak. Byleth is in only a dress.

“Ah, my apologies. Let’s go inside. You shouldn’t have to freeze on my account.”

They make their way into the archbishop’s wing. Dimitri is content with following her, up until it’s clear that she’s headed for her private quarters. His sense of propriety fights the instinct to go where Byleth goes, and after a moment’s confusion, she seems to recognize the problem. Gently, deliberately, she takes his hand in both of hers and pulls him inside. The door is closed behind him, and he distractedly notes the details of the room, all of the little things that mark the space as belonging to Byleth now.

Flowers from the greenhouse are situated on almost every surface. Chairs and sofas have been set up around the edges of the room, with delicate tables set up between them; perfect for a quiet, shared spot of tea. Books and reports are strewn around the area in a semi-organized fashion. Even her nightstand - he pointedly doesn’t look at the bed, because _ good goddess _ \- has three books stacked on top of it.

She leads him to one of her sofas and Dimitri sits, unsure of what she’s planning. Without preamble she seats herself beside him, draping her legs over one of his and leaning into him with her whole body. There’s nothing he can do except embrace her at that point; not that he’d want to do otherwise anyway. She sighs, as though letting go of an enormous weight, and Dimitri swears he can feel his heart stuttering helplessly. Her matter-of-fact handling of the situation is a balm on his nerves, allowing him to relax enough to lean his head on hers and close his eye.

They stay that way for a long time. Dimitri almost dozes off, when she at long last speaks.

“I’ve wanted to do this all day.” He chuckles at that.

“So have I.” Suddenly daring, he lets one of his hands trace up her back; all the way up and then all the way down, repeating as they speak. “It has been… difficult, keeping my distance from you.”

At his words a short, breathless laugh escapes her; before he can recover, she nuzzles closer, hiding her face against his neck. The _ intimacy _ of it is enough to rattle him, unseat his fragile sense of control.

“It is good to know the feeling’s mutual,” she says, voice muffled against him. Her breath teases at the skin below his ear, and it is too much. Before he can think about it, he lets the hand that has been caressing her back slide up, up, settling at the back of her head and leading her into a kiss.

She’s warm and pliable in his arms, pressing herself against him. He can’t feel her properly through his armor, but the weight of her body on top of him is intoxicating all by itself. Shaking, he removes his gloves, and then finally he feels her with his bare hands. Byleth mewls against his mouth and he can’t help the answering moan that follows. She’s quick to take advantage, her tongue darting into his mouth, gliding against his, setting him alight. Time stops completely as her hands comb through his hair, as she pulls herself closer, as she twists, ending up straddling one of his legs.

Dimitri draws back for just a second, and then gently tugs at Byleth’s hair, tilting her head and exposing her throat. He peppers kisses along her skin, presses his tongue to the hollow of her throat, egged on by the feel of her. The thought hits him that he could bite, leave a mark that can be plainly seen by anyone and everyone. Before he can do something stupid, he retreats, pulling back just enough so he can see the damage.

The look of her draws something suspiciously similar to a whine from his throat. She opens her eyes and meets his gaze, chest heaving. Her hair is mussed, braids loosened; a blush is painted across her cheeks.

She looks thoroughly kissed.

It hurts to cut short, but he does anyway.

“We should probably… go back downstairs. Shouldn’t we?”

Byleth doesn’t immediately respond, and he takes the opportunity to memorize the look of her, messy and lovely in the pale light.

“We should,” she says. Then her eyebrows furrow. “But will you be okay? Going back down there tonight?”

He thinks about it. Fear curls in his stomach.

“If I am to be truthful, I don’t think I will be.” She seems to chew on that, taking a moment to tuck a stray lock behind her ear.

“I could tell anyone who wonders that you had to leave early. Plenty of people already have, for all manner of reasons.”

“I wouldn’t want you to have to go to the trouble… That is, would you be alright with-”

“Dimitri,” she says, and there is steel in her voice, “I _ want _ to go to the trouble. You don’t have to do this alone, remember?” Byleth smiles and holds up her hand. The thin silver band of her ring catches the light.

It is incredible, how she keeps showing him new things to love about her. Dimitri doesn’t trust his voice, and instead cups her face with both hands, resting his forehead against hers. They breathe each other in.

“Still teaching me,” he says, smiling, “Though I suppose I can no longer call you Professor.”

“That’s a shame. I’m more comfortable with that then with Your Grace.”

“How about Your Highness?” Her blush deepens, and Dimitri finds himself grinning.

“Oh, goodness. I hadn’t considered that.”

“You will need to get used to it, I’m afraid.” Dimitri leans back a small amount, just enough to be able to look her in the eyes; just enough to delightedly see Byleth bite her lip from embarrassment. “I think calling you beloved in public might cause a stir.”

She laughs, and he can do nothing but marvel at the sight and sound of her.

“Maybe only in private then,” she says, and he has to swallow before he can speak.

“Always.”


	3. Winter - interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the rating has been upped (pretty sure it's still M, but I want to be safe) and that tags have been added. <3

Dimitri sits at his father’s desk, piles of paperwork around him. Candles provide flickering light as he writes. The rasp of his quill is the only sound he makes, accompanied by the murmur of the city, escaping into the room through the window. It’s winter in Fhirdiad, and snow is stacked against the window panes.

There are countless problems that need dealing with; infrastructure, food distribution, taxation levels on account of the war ending… It is a daunting task, but one that Dimitri relishes. It’s dull, and often frustrating, but he’s _ helping_. Fhaergus is rebuilding, piece by piece, and that is worth any sacrifice on his end.

Every time he falters, his hands find their way to his engagement ring, still strung on its silver chain around his neck. It’s easy enough to conceal during the day, hidden under clothes or armor, but alone in his office it hangs in plain sight. The smooth metal and inlaid stones are strangely comforting; physical proof of what’s to come. More than once he realizes that he’s been doing nothing but staring at the ring, rolling it between his fingers, for minutes at a time. It rekindles his resolve, and allows him to keep writing.

It has been three weeks since Byleth’s coronation to archbishop, and five weeks since he himself was crowned king. It hasn’t made much practical difference on his end. He’s quite sure that becoming the official king of an entire continent should feel more momentous than it does. Then again, he’s been preparing for the role since his birth, and technically became king the moment his father breathed his last; perhaps it would be more strange to be afraid.

Something that does loom large in his mind is how to proceed with his beloved. Not the relationship itself; he knows where she stands, and trusts her implicitly. It’s the fact that announcing an engagement so soon after the end of a war feels ill-advised. Resources are still thin in many places, and many of his people still struggle. It needs to be done right, and all his political instincts tell him that the best way to do that is to wait, but he doesn’t _ want _ to wait.

If it were up to him, he’d already have married her. Goddess, the mental image of Byleth clad in royal blue, a crown atop her head… It’s enough to make him bury his face in his hands, blushing from the tips of his ears down to his shoulders. It’s like being a teenager all over again, stealing glances at his pretty professor, hanging on her every word.

There’s a knock at the door. In one smooth, practiced motion Dimitri hides the ring under his shirt.

“Come in,” he says, voice rusty from disuse. Dedue steps inside, brow furrowed.

“I had hoped I would not find you here, Your Highness.”

“I know,” Dimitri says with a sigh. “But there is simply too much that must be done for me to sleep.”

“Hm.” Dedue regards him, face inscrutable. “If you cannot be persuaded to rest… Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I would not wish to take up your time. I know that you have just as many things on your plate as I do.”

“Nothing calls for my attention at the moment, given that it is half past midnight,” Dedue says, a rare smile forming on his lips.

Dimitri leans back, stretches his writing arm with a grimace. “I realize this is hypocritical, but should you not retire for the night, then?”

His old friend is silent, gaze falling to the floor. When Dedue speaks he has to clear his throat first.

“I still find it… difficult to sleep. The war is behind me, and yet I cannot seem to let it go.”

“Ah. In that we are the same, my friend.” Dimitri lets his eyes wander to the windows; they face South, a fact he didn’t think he would ever care about. Now, however, he knows that he’s looking towards _ her _. “Seeing as neither of us can sleep… What do you say to helping me out? And perhaps some tea wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

A short while later both men are seated, discussing the seemingly endless documents on the royal desk. A pot of ginger tea and a pair of cups has joined the paperwork, and the two of them manage to hash out several solutions that had escaped Dimitri when he had been working alone. 

It is three in the morning when they finally finish off the last piece of paper. They bid each other good night, and Dimitri is once again alone with his thoughts. Without another person to anchor him to the present he again begins to think of the future as he goes to bed, and settles under the covers. It is fortunate, he thinks, that the partnership between the kingdom and the church is as close as it is. There is no doubt it will be a boon to his people that the church and state of the land are separate, but like-minded in their pursuits.

It is also fortunate that working together in such a way means many, many meetings between the king and the archbishop. He is scheduled to leave for Garreg Mach in just over a month. He’ll be able to see Byleth, hear her voice, touch her… More than anything he craves her presence. He wants to be near her, feel how alive and unshakable she is. It is a hunger, a need which memory will not satisfy.

It’s just a few weeks, he thinks. He can survive a few weeks, if she’s waiting at the end of them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Byleth’s hand flies to cover her mouth, just barely muffling the whine that escapes her. Her other hand continues its tentative touch, tracing across the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She shivers in the dark, grateful for the late hour; the residence of Fódlan’s archbishop is blessedly undisturbed.

Never in her life has she experienced such a drive. Byleth grew up a mercenary; she knows that almost every adolescent will do what she does now. She’s overheard crass comments and clumsy compliments, shouted across a tavern or whispered in confidence when people thought no one else was around. She understands the instinct, and how prevalent it is throughout society, but never before has she felt the need to indulge in it herself.

These days she cannot seem to help it. At every meeting, through every conversation, during every mealtime her mind wanders. The evening of her coronation plays through her mind again and again, fueling her imagination. She knows what he feels like now; the touch of his hands, his mouth, his tongue on her skin, and it’s all she can do not to squirm when the memories intrude during her daily routines.

Now, in the refuge of night, she has no such restrictions. The hand that had covered her mouth searches downwards, drawing a shudder out of her as it passes her breasts. Down, down, until it joins the other, feeling its way along her thighs, not quite daring to go further. Byleth closes her eyes, breathing hard, and wonders what it would be like to have Dimitri there with her. Would it feel the same, if it were his hands instead of her own?

No, she does not think so. Dimitri’s hands are rougher than her own, truly battle-scarred. And yet she knows how gentle those hands can be, holding her and loving her. In her mind Dimitri’s hands follow her own, carefully mapping their way over her, and with a breath and a tremble she touches herself. She’s unsure, at first, but instinct and half-remembered conversations lead her right, and it’s not long before she’s got a rhythm going. It makes her gasp, takes over her senses, and makes her think of what else she wants to do with her betrothed.

She can imagine his hands on her breasts, pinching her nipples and drawing out a moan. Byleth echoes her own fantasy, one hand flying from her thigh to her chest, pressing and squeezing with fervor. It’s almost possible for her to feel his mouth on her skin, kissing, nibbling and then finally biting. He’s always been diligent, always thorough, and she cannot help but think that he’ll be just as mindful with her. Would he press his lips to her flesh, from her throat to her chest, and then further down still? Kiss his way across her stomach, past old scars, down to where her hand is now frantically rubbing, desperately trying to match her imagination?

She thinks of his open, honest face, and how it would look between her thighs.

The image makes her buck, hips almost lifting off the bed as her hands continue their work, winding her up. Her thoughts seem to hurry from one action to the next, jumping between them as her breaths turn shallow, as everything except the feel of her twitching fingers fades. It’s not long before she comes, eyes screwed shut and mouth open in a silent cry. Her body shakes as it passes, as the surge arcs through her.

Slowly, like waking from a dream, she returns to herself.

Eventually she rises, intent on going outside. The air is suddenly stuffy and uncomfortably hot, and once she’s located a nightgown Byleth steps out to her terrace. The stones beneath her feet seem to gleam under the light of the winter moon.

With no one there to see her she takes deep breaths, the crisp air of the Ethereal Moon filling her lungs. All on her own, she smiles. It’s becoming easier, over time. The relationships around her draw forth more and more emotion, and her own reactions draw people closer still, a positive and strengthening loop she doesn’t wish to escape from.

Her eyes fall to the ring on her finger, and she beams, cheeks aching from the effort. Dimitri has given her so much, and a lot of it without ever intending to, she’s sure. Byleth never expected that the idea of getting married would make sparks ignite in her chest, butterflies appear in her stomach. She could not have foreseen how thinking of Dimitri causes her skin to flush and makes her body thrum with life. It feels as though she is on the verge of an adventure, and for once in her life she has no patience.

Just a few more weeks, and they’ll see each other again. She only has to survive for a few more weeks, and then… Then, she thinks, maybe she can put this new experience to use.


	4. Winter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next - I had to split 'em up - fought me, tooth and nail. But now this one's finished, and the other is written, but not edited. Thank you everyone who has been kind and left kudos or commented. I would like to reply to each comment individually, as I was able to do before, but that's a bit too draining right now. Just know that I see you, and I am ever so grateful. <3
> 
> Now have some shameless fluff.

The captain of the knights in Fhirdiad advises against travelling without an escort, but Dimitri eventually puts his foot down.

“Dedue and I will be able to handle anything we come across,” he says. “Your men will be of greater use continuing to aid with rebuilding the city.” The older man - a seasoned knight, but newly minted captain - reluctantly complies. Once they’ve promised to be careful, and to send word of their safe arrival as soon as possible, Dedue and Dimitri are finally allowed to leave.

For the first time in a month, they are both once more clad in full armor. It is comforting and unnerving in equal measure; armor means protection, a proper barrier against the world, but it is also a reminder of the war. Dimitri and Dedue share a look, as they settle on their respective steeds, and know that the other understands.

Finally the two of them set out, beholden to no one. The air is still cold, and it snows sporadically, but the roads of Faerghus are in good condition, and they keep a steady pace. 

They aren’t even half an hour from Fhirdiad before Dimitri spills the beans.

”Now that we can be sure not to be overheard, there is something I have been wanting to share,” he begins.

”What would that be, Your Highness?”

”You are aware that, on the eve before her coronation, I spoke with our old professor?” Dedue doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk.

”I am indeed.”

”I may have done more than that,” Dimitri says, trying not to sound as smug as he feels. At Dedue’s questioning look, he reaches for the silver chain, and watches his friend’s eyes widen as the ring appears from underneath his shirt.

”But as usual, our dear professor was one step ahead.”

Silence descends, but only for a few moments. Then Dedue smiles, fully, the way he only does when no one else is around.

”Finally.”

Dimitri can only stare, slack-jawed, as his friend lets out a laugh, a short bark of a sound at the king’s surprise.

”Your Highness, it was always only a matter of time.”

”A matter of… For how long…”

”There has been a bet going on since the Wyvern Moon.” Dimitri starts to relax, just a smidge. Seeing this, Dedue hurries to clarify. ”No, Your Highness. The Wyvern Moon of our last school year.” He pauses, face sliding back towards its usual impassiveness. ”When the others thought you were dead, it of course dissolved. Once you came back to us however, we all agreed that there was only one way it could end.”

With uncharacteristic lack of decorum, Dimitri buries his face in his hands. Then he stills.

”As mortifying as this is, I am not sure I understand. If you were all certain that Byleth and I would… What exactly did the bet concern?”

Dedue raises a single eyebrow.

”Who would propose first, of course.”

Dimitri goes back to hiding behind his hands.

There is silence between them for several minutes. Eventually, Dimitri swallows his pride.

”May I ask what outcome you wagered for?”

”I was of the firm belief that you would broach the matter first, Your Highness.” Seeing the king's face, he continues. ”While I have the utmost respect for Her Grace’s good judgment, my knowledge of your steadfastness made the answer obvious.”

”My foolhardy stubbornness, you mean.”

”I would have said you have always acted in accordance with what you deemed right, but you are of course free to express yourself how you wish, Your Highness.”

Dimitri barely holds back a groan.

The rest of the day passes quickly, as the conversation is steered away from his personal life and towards more general topics. Once evening falls, they make camp, movements unhurried but practiced. The war may be over, but the knowledge they gained is far from gone. Dinner is made, the horses are taken care of, and Dimitri settles down by the campfire with a stack of parchment. There are reports, letters, and a myriad of other documents, all concerning matters that are to be discussed during their trip to Garreg Mach.

He’s halfway through a letter detailing the state of the food supply in Gloucester territory when Dedue sits down beside him and clears his throat.

”Your Highness?”

”Yes, my friend?”

”May I know if I was correct?”

Dimitri looks up from the document in his hands, brow furrowed.

”Correct concerning what?”

”Whether you proposed to Her Grace first.”

”I…” The query brings him up short. ”I am not actually sure.” Dedue simply looks at him, eyebrows raised, and he feels his face flush. ”I did make the first offer, yes, but looking back on it… Byleth spoke the words first.”

It takes time, but Dedue eventually gets the entire story, followed by instructions to keep quiet for now. While the nature of their intentions is apparently an open secret - at least among friends - Dimitri still feels that the wisest political course of action is restraint, and to his relief his friend agrees.

They also eventually - in Dimitri’s case, reluctantly - agree on the answer to Dedue’s question.

“I would say this all means that you declared your intentions first, Your Highness.”

“I don’t quite agree with that, my friend. I may have made an offer, but if the bet was specifically concerning a spoken statement…”

“Both you and Her Grace are more than comfortable letting your actions speak for you. My conclusion still stands.”

Dimitri sighs.

~~~~~~~~~~

The days pass, and the landscape of Faerghus blurs by. Outside of villages and towns, they hardly see a soul; Winter is a poor time for most people to travel. Even those who see them do not realize who they are looking at. The king and his closest friend are legends in the flesh, with the light of the goddess at their side. The two travellers who pass by - clothed in grey metal and dark cloth - are probably just stubborn nobles, braving the cold for reasons unknown.

It takes them a week before Garreg Mach is once more in their sight. The sight fills the two men with joy, but it is regrettable in equal measure. On the one hand, the monastery holds within its walls some of the people they love the most; on the other, it means that their time alone is at its end. They have finally had both the time and the privacy to speak of things that are close to their hearts, in a way they have not been able to since they were children, and the loss of that freedom is heavy.

As they approach the monastery the sun is at its peak. Despite this, the light offers no warmth; it will be months yet before the snow melts.

They dismount at the gates, leading their horses through the busy market. The people and shops are flourishing, crowded and teeming with activity. With their hoods up against the chill, no one recognizes them. They're almost past the worst of the crowds when Dedue slows down; at Dimitri's questioning look, he nods toward a nearby pastry shop. Chatting with the owner, and for once unaccompanied by her brother, is Flayn.

"I can take our horses, Dedue. Go ahead."

"No, Your Highness," Dedue says, shaking his head. "I'll not leave you to do the work."

"Nonsense. We will need to announce our arrival to everyone anyway, so this is simply dividing the workload. I will need a moment to compose myself, regardless."

Dedue's eyes flicker with indecision, but eventually his stubbornness gives way. He heaves a deep sigh, hands the reins to Dimitri, and makes for the pastry shop. Dimitri doesn't stick around, but he can still hear the shrill delight in Flayn's voice over the general hubbub.

Getting the horses settled in is calming, even therapeutic in a way. The stable hands know Dimitri, and while they do address him with his title, they don't fawn or stutter. He has spent many weeks among them, just another student at the Officer's Academy whose role it was to take care of the horses that week. They are honest people doing honest work, and the concept is reassuringly grounding.

Next is the issue of their packing. Two of the men working in the stables offer to take care of it; while he initially protests, Dimitri’s offer of handling it himself is soundly downvoted. The older of the men laughs at his objection.

“Your Majesty, it’s no trouble at all,” he jovially assures him. The man’s mustache wobbles as he speaks. “It’ll be good t’ stretch my legs properly before lunch. Now go ahead and go meet the Archbishop; I’m sure she’s all a-flutter waitin’ for ye.”

The man’s words cause Dimitri’s thoughts to grind to a halt. Between trying to figure out how much the man knows - how much  _ everyone _ knows - and saying thank you, the king finds himself neatly removed from the stables. He shakes himself, like a wolf trying to get water out of its fur, and chooses to focus once more on his objective. The stablehand is right, after all; Byleth will be awaiting his company.

For a brief moment he considers stopping by the bathhouse; travelling means dust and dirt, and it seems inappropriate for the king to meet the archbishop in such a state. Then again, it has been weeks since he has last seen her. Weeks without the light catching in her hair, without her measured gaze, without her warm assurance of a presence... Decision made, he hurriedly makes for the main building and the stairs to the second floor. With his travelling hood removed, and his hair tied back in a messy ponytail, people start to recognize him as he walks past. He offers a smile and a nod, but does not slow down, until he stands outside the archbishop's audience chamber.

Quietly, he opens the door and then shuts it behind him. The vast room is empty; his boots click against the floor as he proceeds to the office at the side. To his left, Seteth looks up from his own desk, a pleased smile forming on his face, and to his right...

She is bent over her desk, engrossed in the document she's currently penning, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Byleth unconsciously bites her bottom lip in thought as she writes, and Dimitri feels the sight of her plummet straight from his eyes to his heart. Goddess, she is beautiful.

Goddess, he loves her.

"It is good to see you again, Your Majesty," Seteth says, and Byleth finally looks up, her eyes locking with Dimitri's. The king knows that he should respond, but all words have fled from him as his betrothed drops her quill and parchment and circumvents the desk at an astonishing speed.

She more or less jumps to wrap her arms around his neck, her breath shuddering past his ear and causing him to tremble where he stands. Holding her again is like coming up for air; he had not even realized he was drowning. Dimitri burrows against the crook of her neck, like a magnet drawn to North.

A few seconds pass, and then it dawns on them that they are not alone. They both let go, Dimitri blushing and Byleth smiling, and face an amused Seteth.

"I apologize for arriving slightly ahead of schedule," Dimitri begins, his voice surprisingly stable considering how shaky he feels. "Dedue and I decided to forgo the usual cortege and travel by ourselves."

"A prudent decision, it would seem." Setting down his quill, Seteth begins to gather the documents in front of him. "Why don't you show His Majesty around, Lady Byleth? We have made some headway with reparations and improvements since he was here last."

"Are you sure? There are several things we have to finalize today," Byleth says. At her protest Seteth shakes his head.

"I can do a great deal of the administrative work by myself. Return after lunch and we will be done with everything in time." She opens her mouth to argue, but doesn't get the chance before he continues. "I was young once too, Byleth. Now go on."

Promptly dismissed, they have no choice but to follow the thinly-veiled order. They make it all the way out to the corridor, the door slamming shut behind them, before they look at each other and have to stifle laughter. A memory surfaces for Dimitri, of sneaking down to the castle kitchens with Sylvain and Ingrid and Felix. Of how they grabbed what treats they could find - how even then, guilt plagued him, even as he couldn’t resist the allure of something forbidden and sweet - before legging it up to his room, the one place they knew they would be safe until morning. How they giggled, as quietly as they could, cheeks warm from running and the thrill of eluding the grown-ups.

He feels much the same way now. If he hadn’t already loved her, he would have fallen, helpless, just for this.

"Trust Seteth to shoo us out of the room like children," Dimitri says, fond exasperation taking the edge off his words.

"Our titles mean very little," she agrees. “I don’t know about you, but I find it refreshing.”

Byleth entwines her hand with his and the contact shoots through him like a healing spell. Her hand,  _ her hand _ , small and strong and feeling as though it was made for him to hold. No, like  _ he _ was made for  _ her _ to touch.

“I am so happy to see you again,” she says, cutting straight to the chase. Her other hand reaches up to cradle his face, her thumb swiping across his cheek. Dimitri leans in, and meets her frankness with honesty of his own.

“I missed you,” he says. “More than I thought was possible.”

She hums at that. Her hand inches its way back, towards the nape of his neck.

“I wish I could’ve seen you earlier. For your birthday, if nothing else.”

“If it is any consolation, there was no celebration.” Her eyebrows dip momentarily.

“You know very well how little consolation that is.” Byleth holds his gaze, unyielding. “No amount of merriment would be able to replace your companionship.” Her expression softens as Dimitri takes her other hand; a gasp escapes her when he brings it to his lips.

“Aptly phrased, beloved.”

Byleth leans forward. He would love nothing more than to show her just how much he has missed her, but they are in a public place. A priest or nun could turn a corner any second. It is impossible to resist her entirely, and so he compromises, meeting her halfway for a short, heartfelt kiss. They draw back and share knowing smiles; the promise of  _ later _ hangs in the air.

"Where would you like to go first, Your Majesty?"

"Anywhere, with you." The words are out before he can stop them. They are true anyway, and he does not want to take them back. Especially not when Byleth's cheeks flush such a pleased pink.

"So it is up to me, then?" He nods, and she puts her free hand to her chin in thought. "How about the library, to begin with?"

"As you wish."


	5. Winter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our OTP share their thoughts over how to speak with other people, what their boundaries are, and how to deal with awkward boners.
> 
> Sorry, Dima.

Lunch is a surprisingly quiet affair. Dimitri and Byleth meet up with Dedue and Flayn, and along with Seteth they settle down to eat in one of the dining rooms on the third floor. None of them really mind eating in the food hall, but there is something to be said for a cozier, private setting. While they aren’t all family - not yet, at least - there is a bond there nonetheless, forged over many months of war and struggle. There is a fondness, a strange yet strong love, evident in how familiar they are with each other; with Flayn’s laughter and Byleth’s dry humor, Dedue’s steady presence and Seteth’s formality.

The rest of the day passes by with administrative tasks, as Byleth wraps up what she can and Dimitri prepares for the meetings to come. Time moves as it always does with paperwork, achingly slow and yet faster than expected, and so Dimitri is genuinely surprised when evening arrives. As it turns out, Dedue and Dimitri are not the only ones who have made it to Garreg Mach before meetings are set to begin. Several of the previous-Alliance nobles that are to take part have also done so, leading to something of an impromptu shared dinner.

Before it begins the king and his friend find the time for a trip to the bathhouse. They exchange their travelling gear for more comfortable clothing, proper without being overly formal. Dimitri fights down the unrest he feels at removing armor, only sharing a knowing nod with Dedue.

These days the church seems intent on dressing Byleth in white and gold, high collars and extravagant patterns. While she allows for it during ceremonies and meetings, she pointedly discards the garments for dinner. She exchanges her dress for trousers, tucked into high boots, along with a blouse, coat, and cape. Everything is still in white and light grey, but she has at least managed to rid herself of all the gold, and is noticeably more at ease.

Dimitri loses his breath either way.

The atmosphere turns out to be quite pleasant; everyone involved is still relaxed. There will be plenty of time for official work later, but for now conversations are light and cheery.

After dinner the people in attendance mingle, with more than a few still carrying a glass in one hand. Dimitri speaks with almost everyone, but his attention is on Dedue and Byleth. His old friend, large and imposing even without his armor, does eventually get drawn into conversations. While not as proficient as Dimitri, he is nonetheless becoming more comfortable in the presence of others, and inwardly Dimitri cheers for his friend’s progress.

Byleth glides from one person to another, leaving soft words and gentle reassurances behind, making sure that everyone feels seen. It is unfair to compare them, but Dimitri cannot think of a time when he saw Rhea do the same.

In time, she walks up to the king of Faerghus. Had Dimitri thought about it, he may have realized she was saving him for last.

“I need some fresh air. Would you mind if I stole you away?” He answers her smile with one of his own.

“Not in the slightest.”

It is easier than expected to slip away from the crowd. Once they leave the main halls all light seems to leech out of the surroundings; had it not been for the distant sounds of merriment, the monastery would seem deserted. While certainly busier than it was during wartime, it is a far cry from the golden days of the past. It is a reminder of how much there is left to rebuild.

They are silent as they walk. Byleth seems to be deep in thought, and Dimitri is content with her presence. While they leave the festivities side by side, she wastes no time in taking his hand once alone. This new behavior of hers still feels strange to him, but he suspects it is due to lack of habit, rather than any true discomfort. Being physically close is a learning experience, but one he is more than happy to go through.

They stop once they reach the walkway overlooking the fishing pond. It is a clear winter night, with the water reflecting the stars above. 

His beloved lets out a deep sigh.

“I am still not used to all of this… being social. I hope I did a decent job of it.”

“I am sure you did, beloved.” Byleth gravitates closer at his words, from holding his hand to pressing herself against his chest. Dimitri lets one hand rest on her hip, with the other on the low stone wall. “You have an extraordinary ability to make sure that everyone around you feels included. There is no need to doubt yourself, I assure you.”

“That’s very kind, thank you.” She seems to consider something, taking a moment to mull it over. ”I _ have _ been noticing other people’s intent more, lately. So in some ways I am at least noticing my own progress.”

”Would you be alright with sharing your thoughts on the matter? If you feel up to it, of course.”

”Hmm… I’m a little unsure of how to phrase it.” Dimitri lets her work through it, perfectly content with waiting.

”I feel as though when I interact with other people… I can, well… Translate their actions in a way I couldn’t do before. When someone asks me what I think - of a ceremony, or rule, or whatever it is - it’s like I can see the path of their thoughts. What lead them to ask me specifically, why they’re asking now, things like that.” Byleth frowns, raising her eyes to meet his own. ”Does that make sense? I’m not sure it does.” Dimitri nods.

”It does. I do understand what you mean. You have made me curious, though. What was your thought process before?”

”I… I suppose there wasn’t one? I would notice someone doing something and just… accept it. I noted that someone had performed an action and then continued with what I was doing, without reflecting on any possible meaning.”

“Then I would say you’ve made remarkable progress,” Dimitri notes. “You’ve told me before about how you were closed off from emotion before the Goddess blessed you with her power. Adjusting to the influence of feelings cannot have been an easy thing to do. It makes sense that being more... connected with your own emotions would allow you greater insight into the thoughts and feelings of others.”

Byleth’s mouth falls open. She looks so shocked it’s actually funny, but he manages to stop himself from laughing out loud. Her surprise then seems to give way to equally charming bashfulness, color flooding her cheeks to the point where he can see it, even in the low light. Emboldened, he continues.

“If you would be willing to share more of your thoughts, I would gladly hear them.”

“Are you… are you sure? I’m not sure it’ll be too interesting for you…”

“I disagree. What you think and feel holds value to me.”

Byleth beams, and it knocks the air from his lungs.

“Let’s see…” Her gaze falls across the pond. “I noticed that Lord Rhosyn was trying to loosen my tongue by supplying me with wine.” Her expression turns smug, a new and equally dangerous look for her as far as Dimitri’s heart rate is concerned. “Unluckily for him, I have a tolerance honed by years of mercenary work.”

“Do you now? That is honestly surprising.” She nods at that.

“When I was younger I tried to drink as much as everyone else in the mercenary group. I was told my inhibitions would slip if I did, and I thought that maybe…” The mood abruptly shifts. “Maybe that would make me more normal.”

“Oh beloved,” Dimitri responds, heart aching at her downcast appearance. He gently cups her face. “Please do not ever believe that you were somehow lacking before your contact with the Goddess. You were, and are, perfect just the way you are. There was never any fault in your existence. Please, believe that.”

“I…” Byleth’s eyes are unexpectedly glassy. It takes her a moment to find her words. “Thank you. That’s… a relief to hear. Truly. _ Thank you._” She escapes his hold to pull him into a crushing hug, and Dimitri is more than happy to adjust.

“Of course.”

Silence descends again, comfortable and calm. Starlight twinkles above them and reflects in Byleth’s hair as she stands, enfolding him in her arms. With a sigh Dimitri turns them and leans fully against her, effectively trapping his beloved against the low wall. She nestles closer still, and Dimitri thinks his chest might very well explode under her touch. The heartfelt warmth of having her so close is rending him apart.

She then shifts, dragging her lips over the sensitive skin at his throat, and his heart begins to race for a different reason. He feels her tongue and groans.

“Beloved?” Byleth hums in response, her tongue emerging to dance across his pulse. He gasps when she tilts her head and lets her teeth just graze his skin; not a bite, just a firm touch. “What are you doing?”

“Experimenting,” she says, leaning back to catch his gaze. Her eyes glitter with mirth, and he hopes he doesn’t look as desperate as he feels. “Is it working?”

“I’m not sure.” He has to clear his throat before continuing. “What is the goal of your experiment?”

“To find out what feels good for you,” she says, _ casually,_ as though the answer isn’t enough to short-circuit his brain. Her hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, settling to play with his pony-tail as she speaks. “You’ll tell me if it doesn’t, right?”

“If… if it… my apologies, if what doesn’t?”

She smiles at that and pulls him down, touching her forehead to his. Dimitri is taller, but she feels so all-encompassing like this, filling his nose with her scent and his ears with her voice, her touch soft but insistent from his head to his feet. “Will you tell me if anything I do does not feel good?”

“I doubt that would be the case,” he murmurs. “But I would do so, yes.”

“Good,” she says, closing the distance from her mouth to his. Her lips are as soft as ever, as intoxicating as any wine. His fingers fist in the fabric of her cloak, head tilting to get even closer, until their bodies are completely aligned. He carefully presses his tongue against her and she opens, letting him in. There is no rush as he explores her mouth, their tongues meeting over and over. Byleth entangles her hands in his hair, toying with the dark blue ribbon that holds it in place. With a few tugs it comes loose entirely, tumbling down, and she makes a satisfied noise. The feel of her sound vibrating into him overrides what sense he has, and he tears himself away from her face to kiss at the side of her neck, up and down as she shivers against him.

Imitating her earlier action, he bares his teeth and presses them against her skin; it still isn’t a proper bite, only a point of contact. An unfiltered moan escapes her. Encouraged, he presses just a little harder, and is rewarded with a gasp and the tightening of her grip in his hair. Unthinkingly, he clutches her body tighter, one hand between her shoulders and the other dangerously low on her back, and it feels almost too exhilarating, too right, too…

Hard.

Panic erupts in his chest as Dimitri realizes that he’s pressing a full erection into Byleth’s hips. He jerks back, only managing to move half a step with her holding on to him. They’re both panting, blood racing, and Dimitri desperately tries to still his beating heart so he can _ calm down _ and not force himself on his future wife.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Her voice is utterly ruinous to his futile attempts to breathe normally.

“I am,” he replies.

Byleth tries to close the distance between them once more, but he stops her, hands squeezing at her waist. Her eyebrows draw together.

“Dimitri,” she says. He trembles at hearing his name. “You said you would tell me if you were uncomfortable.”

“I am not uncomfortable, beloved. I just…” And now he’s blushing because of course, _ of course _ he can’t behave himself and treat her properly. _ Of course _ he has to ruin everything by acting like a beast in heat. “I don’t wish to cause _ you _ any discomfort.”

“What do you mean?”

Oh, Seiros above. How does he explain? Outside of his control, his eye darts momentarily down before meeting hers again, and after a few painful seconds he sees Byleth’s eyes widen in realization.

If the goddess would just let him die now, that would be fantastic.

“Oh, Dimitri,” she says. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or mortified at the humor lacing her words. “Surely you don’t think I would be repelled by you?”

_ I wouldn’t blame you_, is what he wants to say. He bites it down.

“I strive to not make it so,” he says instead.

She is silent at that, and when he risks a glance at her face she is chewing her lower lip, seemingly mulling over his words. Dimitri can do nothing but stand, warm from shame and love, awaiting her verdict.

“Do you trust me?” Her question is unexpected, but his answer is swift.

“Without question.”

“Good. Then trust me to tell you if I’m not alright with something we’re doing.” Byleth bites her lip and his gaze follows. “I am more than alright with knowing - and feeling, for that matter - that you’re enjoying this.”

“I… Uh…” He swallows. He is not ready for this conversation, on any level. “Very well, if you, uh...”

“If anything, I’m quite flattered.” Dimitri laughs before he can stop himself, and her smile turns downright impish.

“That is… reassuring,” he says. “But not terribly useful if I am to restrain myself appropriately around you.”

“Why would you, though?” she ponders, and he chokes on air. When he struggles to respond, she continues. “Please tell me what you’re thinking, Dimitri.”

“I…” What is he thinking? Is he thinking at all? Certainly not enough to provide a proper answer, and Byleth seems to realize this too.

“How about this,” she says. “If you will trust my word on what I am willing to do, I will trust yours. And if we’re unsure, we just ask. Will that work?”

“Yes,” he answers, forcing his mouth to function. “Though we will of course be limited by… That is to say, before marriage, we’ll, uh…”

The look Byleth gives him steals the air from his lungs.

“I am aware there are certain _ activities _we must refrain from,” she teases. Dimitri is sure he’ll overheat from the rush of blood in his face. “But as for what I would _ like _ to do…”

Byleth grabs his chin with one hand, pulls him close, and deliberately keeps eye contact as she speaks.

“If it were up to me, I would drag you back to my quarters right now.” His eye widens, but she isn’t done. ”I love you. And even if I cannot properly bed you, there are many other things we could try instead.”

Silence falls over them. Dimitri is unsure if he’s still alive or if he’s somehow ascended. Evidence is pointing to the latter. He stays quiet for so long that Byleth’s brow furrows, and she opens her mouth, suddenly unsure if she’s stepped out of line.

Then he snaps.

With a speed normally reserved for the battlefield Dimitri pounces, closing in on the skin of Byleth’s neck, nipping and licking with renewed vigor. His hands travel down to grasp her behind and pull her right up against him. The proximity arcs through his body; he pauses his ministrations at her neck long enough to grab her by the waist and lift her, seating her on the wall and then diving back in, claiming her mouth.

Whether by choice or by instinct, Byleth hooks her legs over his hips and draws him in, and they moan together at the sudden pressure. All higher thought flies out of his head as Dimitri presses back in, and then again, and again. Her thighs squeeze his hips, securing him even closer to the core of her. The pressure is maddening. All he knows is that she feels so _ good, _and she _ wants _ this, she wants _ him,_ her words repeating in his mind. _ I love you, I love you, I love you_, over and over, and he must have started saying it himself at some point because Byleth draws back, looking absolutely starstruck.

“I love you too,” she says, breathless. It’s enough to make him chase the words with his lips, offering her a searing kiss before he resumes his work at her neck.

“You don’t know, you don’t know,” he mumbles against her skin. It is as though he’s hearing someone else say the words; his own mind doesn’t seem to be functioning. “Goddess, Byleth… my Byleth, my beloved…” He reaches the soft skin above her chest, placing open-mouthed kisses and thrusting forward into her hips once more. She arches her back, and his tongue starts to toy with the fabric at the top of her breasts-

A laugh is heard, and another voice, not too far away. Dimitri is ripped from his daze, mind suddenly clearing. They break apart, chests heaving. It takes only a second for them to locate the intruders. Whoever is approaching is moving from the marketplace towards the fishing pond. Byleth jumps down and grabs Dimitri’s hand, guiding him along towards the student rooms. They retrace their earlier steps at a hurried pace. His heartbeat pounds in his ears.

She leads them just past the first dormitory building, to the small space between the two that makes an alley of sorts. It’s dark, and deserted. They lean against the wall and pant for air.

Inwardly, Dimitri curses his own foolishness. Had he not, minutes before, brought up the fact that he should restrain himself? And to be so short-sighted as to ravage his beloved where they could easily be found…

“So,” Byleth says, startling Dimitri out of his self-admonishment. “Lesson learned, I suppose. We’ll pick a more private place next time.”

”Agreed.”

“That being said,” she begins, taking a step to stand in front of him, “I hope you haven’t changed your mind about being okay with all of this.”

“We should probably be responsible and set a stricter boundary,” he agrees. “But I am finding the idea of waiting to touch you excruciating.”

Byleth laughs, and then her hands find his face in the darkness, her fingers caressing his skin and pulling him towards her. Her lips ghost over his and Dimitri is lost all over again. He couldn’t resist her even if he wanted to.

It takes only a moment and a few quick, decisive movements, before Byleth is pressed against the brick wall. It takes no effort at all to lift her and to press himself into the inviting nook of her open legs. His tongue finds hers once more, their kisses more sloppy, messy, desperate. The sound of their actions overpowers his senses, obscene in a way he’s never been able to imagine. When Byleth’s thighs squeeze around his waist he bucks into her. The exquisite feeling of thrusting against her warmth, of being trapped by her legs is more than he can handle. She pulls back, leans her head on the wall as she pants, and he latches on to the inviting expanse of her bared throat, mouthing mindlessly at the soft juncture of her shoulder. He only pauses when she speaks.

”I love you,” Byleth whispers.

He mumbles something that might have been an _ I love you too_, but his lips don’t leave her skin enough to properly form words.

”I love you, and I… I can’t wait to go home with you.”

His heart throbs at her words; he already knows but hearing her _ say _ it…

”I can’t wait to marry you.” Dimitri trembles, giddy euphoria ruining any chance of calming down. He leaves her skin to look into her eyes and pant against her mouth. Byleth is smiling, a devastating sight at such close range. With tremendous effort he speaks.

”Beloved.” His body pauses, and the sudden lack of friction is bittersweet. He nuzzles against her, their noses touching, and his eye closes. ”Byleth. My beloved, my light...”

She sighs, hot on his skin. Their lips are close enough to touch.

”My queen,” he whispers, and then captures her lips with his own. They moan as one, overcome by the knowledge of what awaits. The world has narrowed to two sets of labored breathing, to two warm bodies, to the intent of staying together for as long as they can.


End file.
